


Twilight Revamped: Another Side

by JGluum



Series: Twilight Revamped: Another Side [1]
Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/F, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Rewrite, Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 18:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19910443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JGluum/pseuds/JGluum
Summary: Isabella Swan’s move to Forks, a small, perpetually rainy town in Washington, could have been the most boring move she ever made. But once she meets the mysterious and alluring Edythe Cullen, Isabella’s life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn. Up until now, Edythe has managed to keep her vampire identity a secret in the small community she lives in, but now nobody is safe, especially Isabella, the person Edythe holds most dear. The lovers find themselves balanced precariously on the point of a knife-between desire and danger.Another Side of the Twilight: Revamped Saga.





	1. First Sight

To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.

\- Emily Dickinson

* * *

PREFACE

I’d never given much thought to how I would die—though I’d had reason enough in the last few months—but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stare without breaking across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, and she looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that if I’d never gone to Forks, I wouldn’t be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it’s not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as she sauntered forward to kill me.

* * *

My mom drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. Though it was January everywhere else, it was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt—sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this small town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I’d been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally suggested a compromise; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

Yet somehow, I now found myself exiled to Forks for the rest of my high school education. A year and a half. Of course, this was my choice. Self-imposed exile. But that didn’t make it any easier.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. And I loved living with my mom.

“Bella,” my mom said to me—the last of a hundred times—just before I got to the TSA post. “You don’t have to do this.”

I look like my mom, except for her short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

“I _want_ to go,” I lied. I’d always been a bad liar, but I’d been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

“Tell Charlie I said hi.”

“I will.”

“I’ll see you soon,” she promised. “You can come back home whenever you want—I’ll come right back as soon as you need me.”

But I knew what it would cost her to do that.

“Don’t worry about me,” I insisted. “It’ll be great. I love you, Mom.”

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I walked through the metal detectors, and she was gone.

It’s a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn’t bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been pretty great about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to leave with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He’d already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call extroverted, and I didn’t know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision—like my mother before me, I hadn’t kept the way I felt about Forks a secret.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn’t see it as an omen—just unavoidable. I’d already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I hated being driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing draws attention like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

“It’s good to see you, Bells,” he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. “You haven’t changed much. How’s Renée?”

“Mom’s fine. It’s good to see you, Dad.” I wasn’t allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

I only had a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

“I found a good car for you, really cheap,” he announced when we were strapped in.

“What kind of car?” I was suspicious of the way he said “good car for _you_ ” as opposed to just “good car.”

“Well, it’s a truck actually, a Chevy.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?” La Push is the tiny Native American reservation on the coast.

“Not really.”

“He used to go fishing with us during the summer,” Charlie prompted.

That would I explain why I didn’t remember him. I do a good job blocking painful things from my memory.

“He’s in a wheelchair now,” Charlie continued when I didn’t respond, “so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.”

“What year is it?” I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping wouldn’t ask.

“Well, Billy’s had a lot of work done on the engine—it’s only a few years old, really.”

I hoped he knew better than to think I would give up that easily.

“When did he buy it?”

“He bought it in 1984, I think.”

“Did he buy it new?”

“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties—or late fifties at the earliest,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Ch—Dad, I don’t really know anything about cars. I wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn’t afford a mechanic…”

“Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don’t build them like that anymore.”

 _The thing_ , I thought to myself… it had possibilities—as a nickname, at the very least.

“How cheap is cheap?” After all, that was the part I couldn’t compromise on.

“Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.”

“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn’t comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

“That’s amazing, Dad. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

No need to add that my being happy in Forks was a stretch. He didn’t need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth—or engine.

“Well, now, you’re welcome,” he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn’t deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

But it was too green—an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Charlie’s. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he’d bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new—well, new to me—truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab.

And I loved it. I didn’t know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged—the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

“Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!” Now my day tomorrow would be just that much less difficult. I wouldn’t be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief’s cruiser.

“I’m glad you like it,” Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window—these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I didn’t mind too much; I had to share with Renée, and she was probably messier.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn’t hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mom. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn’t in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a total of only three hundred and fifty seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior high class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, something to stare at and whisper about.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I’d never fit in anywhere. I _should_ be tan, sporty, blond—a track star, or a cheerleader, perhaps—all the things that go with living somewhere sunny and warm.

Instead, I was incredibly pale, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been lean, but never athletic; I didn’t have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself—and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but I already looked paler, in that was even possible.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just physically that I’d never fit in. And if I couldn’t find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn’t relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn’t relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never exactly on the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn’t matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn’t sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant _whoosh_ ing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn’t fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was quiet. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined the familiar kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining modest-sized family room was a row of pictures. First, a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year’s. Those were embarrassing to look at—I wondered if I could get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me sad.

I didn’t want to be too early to school, but I couldn’t stay in the house anymore. I put on my jacket—thick, non-breathing plastic, like a biohazard suit—and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots sounded weird. I already missed the dry crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn’t pause and admire my new truck as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a bonus that I hadn’t expected.

Finding the school wasn’t difficult, though I’d never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn’t see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading **FRONT OFFICE**. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I’d hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn’t enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a round, balding man in glasses. He was wearing a t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed for the weather.

The balding man looked up. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Bella Swan,” I informed him, and saw the immediate awareness light his eyes. I was expected, already the subject of gossip. Daughter of the Chief’s flighty ex-wife come home at last.

“Of course,” he said. He dug through a leaning stack of papers on his desk til he found the ones he was looking for. “I have your schedule right here, Isabella, and a map of the school.” He brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

“Um, it’s Bella, please.”

“Oh, sure, Bella.”

He went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. He smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I’d lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a brand-new silver Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn’t draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn’t have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my backpack, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. _I can do this_ , I lied to myself. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with other students. My plain black jacket didn’t stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black “ **3** ” was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn’t be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a narrow woman with a severe face whose desk had a nameplate identifying her as Ms. Mason. She gawked at me when she saw my name—not an encouraging response—and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least she sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I’d already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with jet-black hair leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

“You’re Isabella Swan, aren’t you?” He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

“Bella,” I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

“Where’s your next class?” he asked.

I had to check in my backpack. “Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.”

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

“I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way…” Definitely over-helpful. “I’m Eric,” he added.

I smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn’t getting paranoid.

“So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?” he asked.

“Very.”

“It doesn’t rain much there, does it?”

“Wow, what must that be like?” he wondered.

“Sunny,” I deadpanned.

“You don’t look very tan.”

“That’s probably why they kicked me out.”

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn’t mix. A few months of this and I’d forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck,” he said as I touched the handle. “Maybe we’ll have some other classes together.” He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed a map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn’t remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she talked about teachers and classes. I couldn’t quite keep up, though.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I couldn’t manage to remember their names, despite my best effort. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. And they weren’t talking, and they weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of food in front of them. They weren’t gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and help, my attention.

They didn’t look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big—muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was very short and thin in the extreme, his hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. All three of them looked more like college students, or even teachers here rather than students.

The two girls were both stunning. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back.

The other girl was smaller, with hair somewhere between red and brown, but different than either, almost metallic somehow, a bronze-like color. She looked younger than all the others, more girlish.

All so different, and yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler even than me. They all had very dark eyes—from here they looked black—despite the range in hair colors. They also had dark shadows under those eyes—purplish, bruise like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why I couldn’t look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to believe they were real. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful—maybe the model-like blond, or the bronze-haired girl.

They were all looking away—away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the thin boy rose with his tray—unopened soda, untouched apple—and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, wondering if he had training as a dancer, till he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

“Who are _they_?” I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name I still couldn’t remember.

As she looked up to see who I meant—though already knowing, probably, from my tone—suddenly _she_ looked at us, the bronze-haired one. She looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then her dark eyes flickered to mine. Mysteriously fierce eyes, with thick lashes.

She looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, her face held nothing interest—it was as if my neighbor had called her name, and she’d looked up in involuntary response, having already decided not to answer.

My neighbor coughed once, uncomfortable, looking down at the table like I did.

“That’s Edith and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Archie Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.” She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful girl, who was looking at her tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with thin, pale fingers. Her mouth was moving very quickly, her full lips barely opening. The other three looked away, but I still thought she might be speaking quietly to them.

Strange names. Old-fashioned. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was popular here—small-town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a totally normal name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

“They are… very nice-looking.” I struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

“Yes!” Jessica agreed with a giggle. “They’re, like, _together_ though—Emmett and Rosalie, I mean. There’s even a rumor that Archie and Jasper are a thing. And they _live_ together.” Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

“Which ones are the Cullens?” I asked. “They don’t look related…”

“Oh, they’re not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They’re all adopted. The Hales _are_ brother and sister, twins—the blondes—and they’re foster children.”

“They look a little old for foster children.”

“They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.”

“That’s really kind of nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.”

“I guess so,” Jessica admitted somewhat reluctantly, and I got the impression that she didn’t like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. “I think that Mrs. Cullen can’t have any kids, though,” she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

“Have they always lived in Forks?” I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

“No,” she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. “They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.” Not the most interesting by any standard.

I felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the bronze-haired girl, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with obvious curiosity. As I immediately looked away, I thought that her look held some kind of unanswered expectation.

“Which one is the girl with the reddish-brown hair?” I asked. I peeked at her from the corner of my eye, and she was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today—she had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again.

“That’s Edith. Don’t hold your breath that she’ll be nice to you, though. She’s totally stuck up.” Jessica sniffed. I wondered what had happened between them to inspire such negative feelings.

I decided to glance at bronze-haired girl again. Her face was turned away, but I thought her cheek appeared lifted, as if she were smirking.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They were all noticeably graceful—even the big, brawny one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Edith didn’t look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I’d been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in comfortable silence. She was shy, too.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized Edith Cullen but her unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

My heart started pounding a little faster than usual.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching her surreptitiously. Just as I passed, she suddenly went rigid in her seat. Her face jerked up toward mine so fast it surprised me, staring with the strangest expression—it was more than angry, it was furious, hostile. I looked away, stunned, going bright red. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I’d been right about the eyes. They were black—coal black.

Mrs. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions and no mention of my full name. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by _her_ , bewildered by the antagonistic stare she’d given me.

I didn’t look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw her posture change from the corner of my eye. She was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of her chair and averting her face like she smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

The lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I’d already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn’t stop myself from shooting the occasional glance at the strange girl next to me. Throughout the entire class, she never relaxed her stiff position on the edge of her chair, sitting as far from me as possible, with her own hair hiding most of her face. Her hand was clenched into a fist on top of her left thigh, tendons standing out under he pale skin. This, too, she never relaxed. She had the sleeves of her white Henley pushed up to her elbows, and her forearm flexed with surprisingly hard muscle beneath her pale skin.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the rest. Was it because the day was finally ending, or because I was waiting or her tight fist to loosen? It never did; she continued to sit so still it looked like she wasn’t even breathing. What was wrong with her? Was this how she usually acted? I remember what Jessica had said at lunch today, maybe she was right about Edith Cullen being rude.

This couldn’t have anything to do with me, though. She didn’t know me from Eve.

Mrs. Banner passed some quizzes back when the glass was almost done. She handed me one to give to the girl. I glanced at the top automatically—one hundred percent… and I’d been spelling her name wrong in my head. It was Edythe, not Edith. I’d never seen it spelled that way.

I peeked over at her as I slid the paper over, and then instantly regretted it. She was glaring at me again, her black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from her, shrinking against my chair, the phrase _if looks could kill_ suddenly ran through my mind.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and Edythe Cullen was out of her seat. Fluidly she rose—she moved like a dancer—her back to me, and she was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen, staring blankly after her. She was so mean. It made no sense. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, an embarrassing tendency.

“Aren’t you Isabella Swan?” a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into a faux-hawk style, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn’t think I smelled bad.

“Bella,” I corrected him, with a smile.

“I’m Mike.”

“Hi, Mike.”

“Do you need any help finding your next class?”

“I’m headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it.”

“That’s my next class, too.” He seemed thrilled, though it wasn’t that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer—he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He’d lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I’d met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, “So, did you stab Edythe Cullen with a pencil or what? I’ve never seen her act like that.”

I cringed. So I wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that _wasn’t_ Edythe Cullen’s usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

“Was that the girl I sat next to in Biology?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She looked like she was in pain or something.”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “I never spoke to her.”

“She’s weird. She’s always been kind of cold.” Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the boys’ locker room. “If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.”

I smiled at him before walking through the girls’ locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn’t enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn’t make me dress down for today’s class. At home only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was quickly proving to be my own personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained—and inflicted—playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edythe Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized her strange bronze hair. She didn’t seem to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

She was arguing with him in a low, velvety voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. She was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time—any other time.

This could _not_ be about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I got to the Biology room. The look on her face must have been about some other problem. It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me. I wasn’t interesting enough to be worth that strong of a reaction.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edythe Cullen’s back stiffened, and she turned slowly to glare at me—her face was absurdly beautiful— with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine _fear_ , sending goosebumps up my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. She turned back to the receptionist.

“Never mind, then,” she said quickly in a voice like silk. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And she turned on her heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door.

I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red, and handed him the signed slip.

“How did you first day go?” he asked.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice weak. He didn’t look convinced.

When I got to my truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hell. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie’s house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	2. Open Book

The next day was better… and worse.

It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew what to expect of my day. Mike came to sit by me in English, and walked me to my next class, with Chess Club Eric glaring at him all the while; that was flattering, I supposed. People didn’t look at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Mike, Eric, Jessica, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn’t sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn’t cringe out of the way of the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Edythe Cullen wasn’t in school at all.

All morning I was dreading lunch, fearing her bizarre glares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying sleepless in my bed, I even imagined what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jessica—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and failing entirely—I saw this her four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and she was not with them.

Mike intercepted us and steered us to his table. Jessica seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. But as I tried to listen to their easy chatter, I was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for Edythe’s arrival. I hoped she would simply ignore me when she came and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.

She didn’t come, and I got more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn’t showed. Mike, who was taking on the qualities of a golden retriever, walked faithfully by my side to class. I held my breath at the door, but Edythe Cullen wasn’t there, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Mike followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by my desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a boy with braces and a something close to a bowl cut.

I didn’t want to be arrogant, but I was fairly certain Mike was interested in me, which was a strange feeling. Boys hadn’t noticed me much at home, which was fine; I didn’t want their attention much to begin with. Mike was nice and sort of cute, but his attention made me feel a little uncomfortable.

I was relieved that I had the desk to myself, that Edythe was absent. I told myself that repeatedly. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging suspicion that I was the reason she wasn’t there. It was ridiculous, and egotistical to think I could affect anyone that strongly. It was impossible. And yet I couldn’t stop worrying that it was true.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading out of my cheeks from the volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and navy-blue sweater. I hurried from the girls’ locker room, pleased to find that I had successfully evaded my retriever friend for the moment. I walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.

Last night I had discovered that Charlie couldn’t cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. So I requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He ws willing enough to let me take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.

I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else’s car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn’t noticed their clothes before—I’d been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn’t look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn’t really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn’t imagine any door their beauty wouldn’t open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. I kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when I finally was free of the school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did the shopping at home, and I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that I couldn’t hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever I could find an open space. I hoped Charlie wouldn’t mind. I wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them in the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When I was finished with that, I took my backpack upstairs. Before starting my homework, I changed into a pair of dry sweats and I realized, as I was pulling my damp hair up into a ponytail, that I hadn’t let my mom know I’d made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.

I fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box.

“Bella,” my mom wrote…

_Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom._

I sighed, smiling a little, and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

“Bella,” she wrote…

_Why haven’t you emailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom._

The last was from this morning.

_Isabella,_

_If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I’m calling Charlie._

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but my mom was well known for jumping the gun.

_Mom,_

_Calm down. I’m writing right now. Don’t do anything rash._

_Bella._

I sent that, and began again.

_Mom,_

_Everything is great. Of course it’s raining. I was just waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch._

_Your blouse is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday._

_Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It’s old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me._

_I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breath. I love you._

_Bella._

I had decided to read _Wuthering Heights_ —the novel we were currently studying in English—yet again for the fun of it, and that’s what I was doing when Charlie came home. I’d lost track of time, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

“Bella?” my dad called out when he heard me on the stairs.

 _Who else?_ I thought to myself.

“Hey, Dad, welcome home.”

“Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I bustled about the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I came here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked warily. My mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

“Steak and potatoes,” I answered, and he looked relieved.

He seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered to the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.

“Smells good, Bell.”

“Thanks.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Neither of us were bothered by the quiet. In some ways, we were well suited for living together.

“So, how do you like school? Make any friends?” he asked as he was taking seconds.

“Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Jessica. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there’s this boy, Mike, who’s very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice.” With one outstanding exception.

“That must be Mike Newton. Nice kid—nice family. His dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here.”

We ate in silence for a moment.

“Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure. Dr. Cullen’s a great man.”

“They—the kids—are a little different. They don’t seem to fit in very well at school.”

I was surprised to see Charlie’s face go red, the way it did when he was angry.

“People in this town,” he muttered. “Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here,” he continued, louder. “We’re lucky to have him—lucky his wife wanted to live in a small town. He’s an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they’re all very mature—I haven’t had one speck of trouble from any of them. That’s more than I can say for the kids of some folks of have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend… Just because they’re newcomers, people have to talk.”

It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. “They seem nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They’re all very attractive,” I added, trying to be more complimentary.

“You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing he’s happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on their work with him around.”

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs unwillingly to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school. In Gym, the kids on my team learned not to pass me the ball and to step quickly in front of me if the other team tried to take advantage of my weakness. I happily stayed out of their way.

Edythe Cullen didn’t come back to school.

Every day, I watched anxiously until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Mike was putting together. I was invited, and I had agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was perfectly comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edythe would be there. For all I knew, she had dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn’t totally suppress the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks passed without incident. Charlie, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. I cleaned the house, got ahead on my homework, and wrote my mom more bogusly cheerful e-mails. I did drive to the library on Saturday, but it was so poorly stocked that I didn’t bother to get a card; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and winced at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep well.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn’t know all their names, but I waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn’t raining. In English, Mike took his accustomed seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on _Wuthering Heights_. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit at my cheeks, my nose.

“Wow,” Mike said. “It’s snowing.”

I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

“Ugh.” Snow. There went my good day.

He looked surprised. “Don’t you like snow?”

“Snow means it’s too cold for rain.” Obviously. “Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes— you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips.”

“Haven’t you ever seen snow fall before?” he asked incredulously.

“Sure I have.” I paused. “On TV.”

Mike laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of his head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Eric, who was walking away, his back toward us— in the wrong direction for his next class. Mike apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

“I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I kept walking as I spoke. “Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside.”

He just nodded, his eyes on Eric’s retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. I kept my mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain— until it melted in your socks.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I kept a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Jessica thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Mike caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, with ice melting in his rapidly deflating hair. He and Jessica were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.

Jessica pulled on my arm.

“Hello? Bella? What do you want?”

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“What’s with Bella?” Mike asked Jessica.

“Nothing,” I answered. “I’ll just get a soda today.” I caught up to the end of the line.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Jessica asked.

“Actually, I feel a little sick,” I said, my eyes still on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mike make a concerned face, Jessica discretely shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to a table, my eyes on my feet.

I sipped my soda slowly, my stomach churning. Twice Mike asked, with unnecessary concern, how I was feeling. I told him it was nothing, but I was wondering if I _should_ play it up and escape to the nurse’s office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away. Why was a freaking out? I was just being glared at. It wasn’t like Edythe Cullen was going to stab me with a knife.

I decided to permit myself one glance at the Cullen family’s table. If she was glaring at me, I would skip Biology, like the coward I was.

I kept my head down and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I lifted my head a little.

They were laughing. Edythe, Jasper, and Emmett all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Rosalie were leaning away as Emmett shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else— only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what that difference was. I examined Edythe the most carefully. her skin was less pale, I decided— flushed from the snow fight maybe— the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. I pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

“Bella, what are you staring at?” Jessica intruded, her eyes following my stare.

At that precise moment, Edythe’s eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I quickly turned my head completely towards Jessica, shifting my shoulders in her direction, too. Jessica leaned back, surprised by my sudden movement.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes met, that Edythe didn’t look harsh or unfriendly as she had the last time I’d seen her. She looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

“Edythe Cullen is staring at you,” Jessica giggled in my ear.

“She doesn’t look angry, does she?” I couldn’t help asking.

“No,” Jessica said, sounding confused by my question. “Should she be?”

“I don’t think she likes me,” I confided. I still felt queasy. I felt like she was staring at me.

“The Cullens don’t like anybody… well, they don’t notice anybody enough to like them. And I told you Edythe wasn’t very nice. But she’s still staring at you.”

“Stop looking at her,” I insisted.

She snickered, but she looked away.

Mike interrupted us then— he was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jessica agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Mike left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested, I wondered if Mike would notice her enthusiasm. I kept silent. I would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. I decided to honor the bargain I’d made with myself. Since Edythe didn’t look angry, I would go to Biology. I started feeling knots in my stomach at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn’t really want to walk to class with Mike as usual— he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers— but when we went to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Mike kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, I saw with relief that my table was still empty. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class didn’t start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.

I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but my eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern I was drawing.

“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.

I looked up, stunned that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled—even so, she looked like she’d just finished shooting a commercial. Her dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her eyes were careful.

“My name is Edythe Cullen,” she continued. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan.”

My mind was spinning with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was perfectly polite now. I had to speak; she was waiting. But I couldn’t think of anything conventional to say.

“H-how do you know my name?” I stammered.

She laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. “Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

I grimaced. I knew it was something like that.

“No,” I persisted stupidly. “I meant, why did you call me Bella?”

She seemed confused. “Do you prefer Isabella?”

“No, I like Bella,” I said. “But I think Charlie— I mean my dad—must call me Isabella behind my back—that’s what everyone here seems to know me as,” I tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

“Oh.” She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren’t supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.

“Get started,” she commanded.

“After you, partner?” Edythe asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so beautiful that I could only stare at her like an idiot.

She raised his eyebrows. “Or I could start, if you wish.”

“No,” I said, flushing. “I’ll go ahead.” I was showing off, just a little. I’d already done this lab, and I knew what I was looking for. It should be easy. I snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. I studied the slide briefly.

My assessment was confident. “Prophase.”

“Do you mind if I look?” she asked as I began to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she asked. Her fingers were ice cold, like she’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn’t why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulling her hand back immediately. However, she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, still staggered, as she examined the slide for an even shorter time than I had.

“Prophase,” she agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on our worksheet. She swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

“Anaphase,” she murmured, writing it down as she spoke.

I kept my voice indifferent. “Mind if I look?”

She smirked and pushed the microscope to me.

I looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Dang it, she was right.

“Slide three?” I held out my hand without looking at her.

She handed it to me; it seemed like she was being careful not to touch my skin again. I took the most fleeting look I could manage.

“Interphase.” I passed her the microscope before she could ask for it. She took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. I would have written it while she looked, but her clear, elegant script intimidated me. I didn’t want to spoil the page with my clumsy scrawl.

We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see Mike and his partner comparing two slides again and again, and another group had their book open under the table.Which left me with nothing to do but try to not look at her… unsuccessfully. I glanced over, and she was staring at me, that same inexplicable look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that subtle difference in her face.

“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out unthinkingly. She seemed puzzled by my unexpected question.

“No.”

“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”

She shrugged and looked away.

In fact, I was sure there was something different. I vividly remembered the flat black color of her eyes the last time she’d glared at me— the color was striking against the background of her pale skin and her auburn hair. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn’t understand how that could be, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.

I looked down. Her hands were clenched into hard fists again.

Mrs. Banner came to our table then, to see why we weren’t working. She looked over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

“So, Edythe…,” Mrs. Banner began

“Bella identified three of the five slides,” Edythe said before Mrs. Banner could finish.

Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.

“Have you done this lab before?” she asked.

I smiled sheepishly. “Not with onion root.”

“Whitefish blastula?”

“Yeah.”

Mrs. Banner nodded. “Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” she said after a moment, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” She mumbled something else as he walked away. After she left, I began doodling on my notebook again.

“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” Edythe asked. I had the feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. Paranoia swept over me again. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jessica at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I really was becoming paranoid.

“Not really,” I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn’t concentrate.

“You don’t like the cold.” It wasn’t a question.

“Or the wet.”

“Forks must be a difficult place for you to live,” she mused.

“You have no idea,” I muttered darkly.

She looked riveted by what I said, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

“Why did you come here, then?”

No one had asked me that— not straight out like she did, demanding.

“It’s… complicated.”

“I think I can keep up,” she pressed.

I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.

“My mother got remarried,” I said.

“That doesn’t sound so complex,” she disagreed, but her tone was suddenly softer. “When did that happen?”

“Last September.” My voice sounded sad, even to me.

“And you don’t like him,” Edythe guessed, her voice still kind.

“No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but nice enough.”

“Why didn’t you stay with them?”

I couldn’t understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life’s story was somehow vitally important.

“Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living.” I half-smiled.

“Have I heard of him?” she asked, smiling in response, just enough for a hint of the dimples to show.

“Probably not. He doesn’t play _well_. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot.”

“And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him.” She said it as an assumption again, not a question.

I straightened my shoulders automatically. “No, she didn’t send me here. I sent myself.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand,” she admitted, and she seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She continued to stare at me with obvious curiosity.

“She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie.” My voice was glum by the time I finished.

“But now you’re unhappy,” she pointed out.

“And?” I challenged.

“That doesn’t seem fair.” She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.

I laughed once. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you? Life isn’t fair.”

“I believe I _have_ heard that somewhere before,” she agreed dryly.

“So that’s all,” I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.

Her head tilted to the side, and her gold eyes were appraising.

“You put on a good show,” she said slowly. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”

I shrugged.

“Am I wrong?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t entirely understand you, that’s all.” she raised an eyebrow at me.

“Why would you want to?” I asked, frowning.

“That’s a very good question,” she murmured, so quietly that I wondered if he was talking to himself.

However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.

I sighed, staring at the blackboard.

“Am I annoying you?” she asked. She sounded amused.

I glanced at her without thinking… and told the truth again. “Not exactly. I’m more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read— my mother always calls me her open book.” I shrugged.

“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.” Despite everything that I’d said and she’d guessed, she sounded like he meant it.

“You must be a good reader then,” I replied.

“Usually.” She smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultra-white teeth.

Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I turned with relief to listen. I was in disbelief that I’d just explained my ordinary life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who may or may not despise me. She had seemed engrossed in our conversation, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

I tried to appear attentive as Mrs. Banner illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what I had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But my thoughts were far away from the lecture.

When the bell finally rang, Edythe rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging slightly open.

Mike rushed to my table almost as quickly. I imagined him with a wagging tail.

“That was awful,” he groaned. “They all looked exactly the same. You’re lucky you had Edythe for a partner.”

“I didn’t have any trouble with it,” I said, stung by his assumption. I regretted the snub instantly. “I’ve done the lab before, though,” I added before he could get his feelings hurt.

“She seemed friendly enough today,” he commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. He sounded as surprised as I was by it.

I tried to sound indifferent. “I wonder what was with her last Monday.”

I couldn’t concentrate on Mike’s chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn’t do much to hold my attention, either. Mike was on my team today. He helpfully covered my position as well as his own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team ducked warily out of the way every time I was up.

The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was happier when I was in the dry cab. I got the heater running, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine. I unzipped my jacket, put the hood down, and ran my fingers through my damp hair.

I looked around me to make sure it was clear. That’s when I noticed the still, white figure. Edythe Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. I swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my haste. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, I could swear I saw her laughing.


End file.
